He felt like he was suffocating from butterflies tickling his lungs. He sat down on the empty stage in the theatre. The silence in the room was so loud. He felt like there was a strong and penetrating noise of sunset filling up the room like snowflakes entering summer. He smiled gently at the idea of sunset making the noise. Today was incorrect, well, more than any other day. Suddenly he found himself captivated by the rope hanging from the ceiling that was used for one of the scenes.
Suicide never fascinated him. Before he turned five he was dead, then came back to life and learnt to breathe slowly to have enough space for every single crack hole he could find. Black and white turned to colours, many colours and sounds that left him amazed, shocked and puzzled. What kept him alive when he was five? Probably her soft laughter, a one dimpled boy by her side, the only wrinkle she had between her breasts, the smell of jasmine and something sweet, maybe it was honey or homemade biscuits. Who knows? Supposedly it was the time when him and the others were sitting in the living room and someone was playing on the piano. Who was it? He used to remember how nice it was to be able to see what was beyond seeing and feel what couldn’t be felt. Memories that needed to be fed with other memories, so similar or substituting one another. For some time he managed to erase the past and live for what was there, somewhere between his big toe and left cheek. But of course today it all came back like an old breeze making him sneeze, chuckle and cough in many different orders. It made him feel awake in all different ways and places.
In the morning on the way to the theatre, there was a girl in a red beret running around the building with her eyes fixed on the sky, throwing her hands around. She reminded him of summer nights and warm raindrops. All of a sudden he felt like he needed to stop her. He came towards her and grabbed her arms. She wasn’t surprised, she looked like it was what she’d been waiting for. Her face was open, present and absorbing of his. He, on the other hand, closed his eyes and ran inside the building.
The only time he felt alone was when remembering. Memories and the past confused him, it had always been something he struggled with and couldn’t handle properly. His phone rang. It had been ringing the whole day but instead of picking up he enjoyed the melody of it, the hidden promises of conversation and the candy floss taste it could leave in his mouth. This time he finally picked up the phone.
‘Hi, it’s me.’ A tired female voice announced splendidly.
‘I’ve seen a girl in a red beret this morning. It was rather nicely strange encounter.’
‘Did you talk to her?’
‘No.... I... I ran away instead.’
‘That happens sometimes... you know.’
There was a silence, deep and heavy silence full of tea bag memories.
‘Come home,’ she said and hung up on him. He put the phone back into his pocket and lied on the stage floor.
The whole stage was covered with eleven miles of rainbow thread. Enclosed by a rainbow curtain he was staring at this immense colourful space. Eventually he started to cut off the thread, picked up some of the cut pieces and went outside the theatre. As he expected the girl was still outside running around with her face fixed on the sky. He ran towards her, stopped her with his arms and started to put the rainbow thread around them. They were getting close and tight to each other. They didn’t say a word. What was there to say when they were getting lost in the rainbow of a thousand promises and hopes of strangers that weren't supposed to meet and crash and belong together. The whole act had its own melody resembling the flutter of wings of lost birds that swore to never fly again. There was too much sky to explore after all. When he finished and they couldn’t possibly be closer to each other he said: ‘This way I won’t be able to run away again.’ She looked at him as if she didn’t want him to say anything else but this.